Burning Bodies
by WeeRLegion
Summary: An unwilling anti-heroine with a little too much blood and betrayal on her hands.


Right. I don't know where this all came from. I mean, I'd had the idea for the core points of it for a looong time. But I'd never quite managed to fill out the blanks. Then one day, I started writing, thinknig it'd be just a short one-shot.

And as I'm writing this little header here, it's at 35 pages and counting... *sigh*,

Also, I've got to say that I certainly did not at first intend to put a lyrical quote here; it's such an corny thing to do. But so many songs I chanced to be listening to sounded nicely matched to the story here (yeah, I listen to moody crap, so what? .p ). So just for fun, I started browsing through different bands on my playlist, and their lyrics, and then this one just hit me...

Oh yes, originally I was intending to write this all up, and then post it up as a one large whole; the whole of it hangs narratively quite closely together, the frame-events fit into a really short timeframe. But this just...kept getting longer and longer... And then fate brought me a fine spot to bring it to a halt.

So this either might be it, or I might write it up further, paint some bloody gloom on Orzammar and the Breccies. ^^

So, finally, here we go...

Burning Bodies

Some roads take you places in life  
From which you can never return  
Lost souls will try and guide you back  
From places that you never were

Some choices will be so clear  
But the outcome will be so blurred  
And when the future becomes the past  
It will haunt you with unspoken words 

_-"__With Unspoken Words", by Kingdom of Sorrow_

It's over then. Finally. It's over. The blight is over.

Only muffled sounds of the distant celebrations echo back to the hall of the landsmeet, where she sits alone on the stairs leading up to the throne of the dead kings of Ferelden.

She stands up, sighing, and takes a little sip of wine from her delicate goblet. Her hand trembles, a little drink spills on her robes, and muttering a quiet curse she rubs the stain with her sleeve, but it only seeps deeper into the cloth.

Frustrated, she flips her hand, and the goblet drifts lazily through the air, spattering the carpets with drink, and finally clanging loud on the burn marked stone floor.

Her eyes follow the cup, and her expression turns distant as her eyes lock on the blackened floor underneath it, and she remembers.

"Take her sword!", Suzianna commanded, and Sten moved quickly to obey.

Around them lied scattered a handful of Ser Cauthrien's soldiers, all dead, some gone quietly, their throats slit while they slumbered in Morrigan's spells, others passed out and beyond from having their faces set on fire or their bones wrenched broken by their own spasming muscles as they were electrocuted..

And Ser Cauthrien, she stared blankly ahead, bleeding and bruised, her battlecries from a few heartbeats earlier silenced as her blood whispered foreign commands that she could not help but to obey, handing over her sword to the Qunari giant in front of her.

Suzianna stepped over a body, and now standing in front of her disarmed adversary, placed a hand on her throat, and quickly began preparing more magic, but she was interrupted by Alistair's questioning voice; "What are you doing?".

"A grand entrance", she answered with a wicked grin, and dove back into full concentration, letting go of the blood magic, and before Cauthrien fully could regain her senses, channelling her magic into strength instead.

Holding Cauthrien's neck in the monstrously powerful grip of her delicate hands, Suzianna stormed into the landsmeet hall, Alistair and the others in tow, battering the massive doors open with the less and less conscious lady knight.

"LOGHAIN!", Her voice boomed disproportionately loud and low for her short and skinny elven frame, killing the noise and talk that previously had filled the room.

"Loghain! Is this how you greet the rightful king of Ferelden? Crowding the entrance with your butchers and this, your pet deserter?".

A brief, stunned silence, fell on the lords and ladies present, and Suzianna stormed on; "You bigoted, torturing, and slaving, peasant bastard! Could you not even try playing the part of the noble you pretend to be?".

And though it was a low point for starting civil discussion, things only went downhill from there, with spiteful accusations flying everywhich way, and shouting and arguments breaking out in the galleries, until everything again came to a halt with Morrigan yelling "SHE'S GOT A KNIFE!".

Suzianna barely had a heartbeat to puzzle it out. _She WHO has a knife? Oh, ow. Fuck. I've got a knife. Between my fucking ribs. Fuckfuckfuck..._

She had all but forgotten the barely conscious ragdoll she held at the end of her arm, which now was shouting at her; "I'm here! I'm here! And you're a damned moron for thinking I'd only carry one weapon!". The language used was one few people ever speak, yet one that all understand; that of repeat stabbing.

Suzianna stood dazed, her spells and magic whizzling away almost as fast as the surroundings melted into a senseless blurred pudding in her eyes and finally blacked out altogether as her knees buckled under her and her head hit the floor.

She woke up quickly though, with healing magic poured into her body in excess. There was Morrigan, and apparently someone had taken a bit of initiative and fetched Wynne to the scene, which Suzianna figured probably to have saved her life.

The shouting had quieted down; everybody awaited impatiently for the main event to resume.

And there was Alistair, looking as worried and surprised as the day Suzianna had limped out of Flemeth's hut, and, well, almost every other day of their travels, twice a day on a lousy day.

"Are you...?", Alistair asked, feeling no need to be specific.

"I'm alright.", Suzianna answered, and downed a lyrium potion to get back up to speed.

But she was not alright. The wounds were closed, but knitted shut with fresh and raw flesh and blood, still as painful as the second they were cut into her, and they made their presence well known as she stood up on her shaky legs.

She did not like what she saw.

"Morrigan.", Suzianna whispered poisonously, "Why is that bitch still alive?", she glared at Ser Cauthrien, who stood on the opposite side of the hall, having a whispered conversation of her own, with Loghain, no less.

She seemed much less ragdollish than she had in the chokehold, but bore a few fresh cuts and frostbites on her gaunt face.

"Your Arl Eamon does not seem to understand that issues of this magnitude will not settle themselves with mere talk.", Morrigan sighed disdainfully, "Loghain wanted her alive, and so we traded her for more time to waste with pointless arguments."

Suzianna grimaced. "When things go further south, whatever then happens, first thing I want to see is her, smeared on the floor. Thoroughly."

Morrigan smiled and nodded. "That I certainly can make happen."

They walked to meet Loghain in the center of the room, and after trading feigned regrets for the violence, resumed the argument, with Cauthrien standing back, pretending to be held for investigation.

It was loyalty to your king that, torture this, true enemies that, and slaving tevinter bastards this again; nothing that Suzianna would have bothered uttering if not for the audience.

Suzianna had her reasons for trying to stop the blight, and few of them came anywhere near doing the right thing, or saving innocent lives, even less issues of loyalty or regent, legislation, or a people. None of it mattered to her, until something unexpected came up.

"And, lords and ladies. There is, andcan never be, a good reason for submitting to the leadership of a blood mage, it is sacrificing all that we hold sacred!"

And that was enough to stoke the whole hall into an uproar, with angry demands for explanations shouted one on top of the other.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. How does he know? He's not supposed to know!_ Suzianna feigned suprise, and tried to smile incredulously. She raised her voice, a little feebly, "A blood mage? Me?"

The hall slowly quieted down.

"Oh yes, definitely.", Suzianna spoke mockingly, and tilted her head so all could see her left ear, or what remained of it, as half of it had been bitten off by an ogre in the deep roads. "As you can all see", Suzianna continued humorously, "I have offered up my left ear to the demon lords of the fade in return for the secrets of the blackest magic."

The Arls and Banns answered with a few nervous chuckles and stinging looks, which unnerved Suzianna somewhat. They clearly took the accusation quite seriously.

And Loghain smiled victoriously, as if the whle thing would be settled just with that.

"Your ear? Hardly. The poor people of Redcliffe seem much more likely."

Suzianna stood stunned, mouth almost agape.

It wasn't true. Redcliffe had been a royal fuckup. People had wound up dead and near dead left and right, and...

"You tore a hole in the veil in the castle of Redcliffe, feeding many of it's soldiers and servants, along with the Arlessa, to demons. For what purpose? I do not know. But to guess, you had to break Arl Eamons will before you could put him under your spell, as you clearly have!"

The hall once more thundered with uproar, but Loghain still boomed louderr; "What other reason would Arl Eamon have for lending his support to the MURDERER OF HIS WIFE?"

Suzianna was struck utterly speechless, _What can I say? What can I say? _bouncing frantically

back and forth in her head, until she had to conclude that there was nothing she really could say, nothing to make things any better at least..

Unfortunately, Alistair did not, and while he was too honest to go as far as to outright deny the fact that his fellow warden and lover was a blood mage, he certainly would not stand for false accusations. But Arl Eamon on the other hand, he could be undermined by the pure and unaltered truth, and even Alistair saw as much as that. So the simplified truth it'd have to be; "The Redcliffe horror was the work of the blood mage Jowan! We protected the village and saved as much as could be saved!".

Loghain scowled. "A known blood mage and former associate of this grey warden! One whom she herself helped escape the templars of the mages' tower!"

The audience only got louder and more restless. And Alistair too had pasted an odd look on his face; "Is that true?", he asked.

"I didn't know he was a blood mage!", Suzianna muttered weakly, leaving the stage open for Morrigan.

"Were she really a blood mage, would she let this man slander her reputation with such wild tales?"

The noise lightened a little.

"Would she?"

The show was on again, and the audience calmed down.

"Do you not think she would slip her fearsome magical fingers into the head of this man, and make him kiss the ground she walks upon?", Morrigan underlined the sentence with a meaningful glance thrown Suzianna's way, but got only a subtle shake of a head in return; Suzianna was too bled out and tired for such grand feats of audacious falsehoods.

Up on the left hand gallery Arl Eamon finally cleared his throat, and began speaking; "I assure you all, that I am under no spell or charm, and that the terrible events which took place in my arling, in my home, carried out nothing like the teyrn here speculates."

"So what DID happen?", a voice cried out from the audience, so Arl Eamon took a deep breath, leant on the handrailing, and slowly began explaining.

Suzianna breathed with relief, feeling the scrutiny letting up, eager to get away from the hostile spotlight. She slung an arm over Alistair's shoulder, and, _Owww..._ Alistair gave her another worried look, and waved Wynne over.

"You should be lying down.", the old mage scolded as she prepared a few more spells of restoration.

"Can't, exactly.", Suzianna chuckled wryly, and then Loghain required her attention again.

"Enough of this. I have one more question for you, mage. What have you done with my daughter? Where have you taken her? What arts have you employed to keep her?"

Suzianna sighed, and wiping a few pearls of sweat off her face, answered; "That's... actually three questions.", she waited a moment, hoping for some approving chuckles, but as none were forthcoming, she went on, "And as for arts, well, locked doors seemed to work well enough for arl Howe, from whose dungeon I rescued the queen!". _Now where's that damn blue-blood anyway..._ Suzianna irritatedly wondered, and was quickly answered.

"I believe I can speak for myself."

There, Suzianna saw, was the damn blue-blood, and speaking everything she was not supposed to, too.

_That bloody backstabber..._

"Forget Cauthrien, I want her instead.", Suzianna whispered viciously to Morrigan, who gave her a questioning glance, but also a nod.

"You did not see that coming?", Morrigan whispered back.

"I can't think of every damn thing!", Suzianna hissed in irritated response.

And then someone called for a vote. Finally. Suzianna had expected for the landsmeet to end violently, but she had also hoped it would be her and the crowd against Loghain, not the opposite way around.

"Arrest these traitors!", Loghain cried, and the battle was on.

Morrigan's spell hit first, leaving the surprised former queen of ferelden puking blood and guts until her body could take no more and exploded violently.

Alistair grabbed his shield, just in time to catch a pair of arrows aimed at Suzianna and Morrigan, and took his place in front of the mages.

Sten held the right flank, keeping the overwhelming numbers of Loghain's soldiers at bay with wide swings of his two-hander, severing a few heads and limbs as a handful of brave heroes charged, thinking a swing had gone overwide, when it actually quickly turned into a spinning backstep and a second backhand slash.

A handful of soldiers were already rolling on the floor in flames, caught in Suzianna's initial fireblast. Loghain however, stood seemingly unharmed, guarded well by his plate armor, and more of his soldiers poured in through the doors, with a pair of mages in tow as well.

Oghren, Leliana, and Zevran moved in from the antechamber, and the hall was quickly going from being crowded and noisy, to being thoroughly overcrowded and earsplittingly full of shouts and screams.

Loghains men were organized however, quickly forming a shield line from one wall of the hall to the other, with the furious teyrn himself in the very center, and Oghren and Sten were quickly being forced back, as the tightly interlocked large shields left little space for placing blows.

Leliana had skipped up on the right side gallery, and she began harassing the mages with her arrows, though to little effect except distraction, as they also were guarded by their shieldsmen. But it was enough, as on the opposite side Zevran acrobatically skipped forward on the handrailing and, leaping down, caught one of the mages with a long dagger through the neck. But then the surprise was over, and he found himself hard pressed to defend against the remaining shield carrying bodyguard soldier. So he circled around, until the soldier turned his back to Leliana, and quickly dropped with an arrow sticking out just above his collar.

But another mage remained, and he was prepared with two shieldsmen for his defence, and a third one, entered through a a side door. Zevran charged anyway, and was pleasantly surprised as a magic pulse tore through the room, making most of Loghain's soldiers lose their focus, with a few dropping down, fully asleep.

It was enough for Oghren and Sten to cap a few more heads, breaking the solid shieldline as they did, and it was enough for Zevran to ram a dagger through the eye of one of the mage's guards, with the other dropping dead also, with an arrow sticking out between plates of armor. But the mage had been unaffected, and he had prepared a spell, which plucked Zevran off the ground and began squeezing the life out of him.

The third mage had also gotten up to speed, and his fireball hit the right gallery hard, singeing a few more nobles who in the spirit of the event sported a dagger-wrestling match on top of it, and throwing Leliana down from it and out of the fight, with a few tongues of flame licking whatever of her clothes that weren't made of armor leather.

"Alistair! Wynne! Morrigan!", Suzianna barked orders, "Get Zev! I'll fire them!".

Alistair backed down from the battleline, and quickly purged the magics in the room, and the unconscious assassin was quickly slathered with healing and a shell of protective magic.

But the break in spell support had tipped the scales against Oghren who now stood back against the wall, surrounded by shieldsmen, and Sten lied overwhelmed on the floor, shielding himself from blows with the body of a dead soldier.

And then it hit the room. A scorching inferno that left little but embers standing of Loghain's cloth-clad mages, and all men who weren't covered in armor from head to toe rolled about on the floor, screaming out their lungs, if they had been lucky enough not to breathe in the flames, that is, and if they had not, then all that came forth from their lips was a dry and crackling wheeze and whine.

But it was not quite enough. With Alistair alone standing to hold the frontline, Loghain, and a handful of his soldiers still pushed forward out of the blast, and they, Loghain most of all, were pissed. And so was Cauthrien too.

A pair of Loghains remaining knights, along with Cauthrien, charged Suzianna, while Loghain and Alistair battered eachothers shields, cursing and swearing.

One of the knights' charge was stopped short, as a flying fist of stone pummelled in his great helmet, deep enough to press face-pulp out through his buckled in visor.

And the other knight stumbled, his boots suddenly frozen fast to the floor.

But there was still Cauthrien, and while her blade was a little short of the two-hander she was particularly deadly with, she was dangerous.

Suzianna dodged the first blow, hampered the second with a burst of lightning, and took the third lightly on her bracer as she tried to hold back the assault with a fireblast. But the fourth attack hit home, stabbing.

Cauthrien tried to back down, preparing for another attack, but Suzianna held onto her arm. She muttered, quiet and almost incomprehensible, but definitely angry; "Bitch don't stab me twice in a fucking day..."

In Suzianna's mind, there was no more landsmeet, Loghain, blight, or any other thing. There was blood magic, and there was Cauthrien, and the most painful way of dying she could imagine. Throwing in every last scrap of will and life, Suzianna blasted out a spell of raw anger and power, and Cauthrien quickly turned red with blood and loud with screaming, as her life escaped through her skin and she bled it out through her eyes, ears and nose, and it flooded her throat, until she finally crumbled down lifeless into a pool of blood, with her killer slumping nearly as dead on top of her.

Oghren was wrestling with a pair of soldiers, and Wynne was down, not quite dead in a corner, arrows in her arm and thigh, one in each. But Sten was back up, bleeding profusely, but well in his own element, and again, swinging a two-hander, and with no shield walls to stand in his way, he was mercilessly cleaving limbs left and right, clearly the centerpiece of what remained of the fight, with Alistair and the teyrn still stuck bruising eachother, but thus far unable to beat decisively through eachother's thick shields and armor plates.

Morrigan on the other hand, was still quite unharmed, but kept busy by a pair of Loghain loyalists who had joined the fight once spare weaponry became available on the floor. A third man thrashed about on the floor, stuck in a nightmare.

The shouting had died down with breathless fatigue, only the frantic footwork of the warriors and the clanging of weapons filled the room with noise anymore. So when a voice cried out from the left side gallery; "ENOUGH!", everybody strangely found themselves obeying without question.

There had been enough bloodshed, or so the chantry lady thought. And so thought the nobles, as they slunk back into the scorched great hall to witness the remnants of the rabid carnage. Better to solve it with a duel, they agreed.

So wounds were tended to, and all that could be healed, was healed. Suzianna found herself leaning heavily on a breathless and gore-covered Alistair, and smiling wryly at the damage.

The warden party had thankfully gotten through with no real casualties. Oghren would have to stay sober for a few days, Leliana had a murderous headache and a few burns, Sten had lost a finger, but he did not seem to mind, so noone else did either, and Zevran wouldn't be doing any handstands in a few days. And, Suzianna noticed, she herself was coughing up blood. But Ser Cauthrien was dead, properly, and somewhere coveniently being disposed of by Zevran, to avoid giving a wordless testimony of the dangers of blood magic, and that was a little comfort.

Suzianna painedly shuffled over to Wynne, who after gulping down a few potions had quickly turned to helping even their wounded adversaries.

"Wynne... Could you do something about this.", Suzianna spat out a globe of bloody phlegm.

"Don't spit on my patient!", Wynne snapped.

Suzianna exhaled wearily, and glanced over the dying soldier. "He's dead, Wynne. Too badly burnt. Not even you can do anything for him."

Wynne turned to look sternly back at her. "If there is any hope of doing anything, then we must try.", she looked over the dead and the dying, still scattered across the room, being tended to by whatever mages and doctors that could be summoned fast enough. "Most of these men have had nothing to do with Loghain's plans or crimes. We should not treat them as enemies."

"Yeah...", Suzianna answered dryly, "but I think we sort of just did."

Oghren chuckled nearby, and Wynne sighed painedly. But she did hit Suzianna with a healing spell.

Clank of armor and aproaching steps then caught Suzianna's attention, and she turned to face Arl Eamon.

"Well. That went worse than I had hoped it would."

Suzianna shrugged. "We're alive thus far. That's better than the worst alternative."

Eamon conceded with a vague nod, though his frown left his disappointment clear to see.

"So where is Anora?"

"Mmmmm...", Suzianna muttered; Eamon really had not been paying attention at the start of the fight?

"She's a bit... all over the place.", Suzianna finally answered, prompting snorts of amusement from Oghren and Morrigan.

Eamon however, raised an questioning eyebrow, prompting Suzianna to elaborate tiredly; "You might in fact, have some of her on the soles of your boots..."

Eamon blinked. "She was... that..."

"Splut. Splash. Stain on the floor. Yes."

Eamon stood silent for a moment, his frown deepening. "Well, let's just hope no one takes issue with it.", he drew a deep breath, and quickly regretted it, as the sickening greasy stench of raw-burnt flesh filled his nose. Coughing, he managed to croak out, his expression mildening a little; "It is unpleasant, but we would have needed to do something about her before the end anyway... Anyway, I believe Loghain is awaiting outside, ready for the duel to start."

The crowd gathered outside the landsmeet hall, in the corpse-fume free sunshine. It was declared that the landsmeet would abide by the results, whatever they then would be, and as an arena was cleared in the middle of the herd of nobles, the only question that remained was, who would be representing the wardens in the fight.

Alistair of course was eager to resume the fight, but Suzianna would have none of it; he had not beat Loghain earlier, she wouldn't count on him doing it now. Sten seemed to be almost fit enough, but then Suzianna noticed the murderous glares the teyrn was throwing in Morrigan's direction _Oh, someone WAS paying attention at the start of the fight..._

It seemed a bit unorthodox, a fight with unequal weapons, but Suzianna decided to try it anyway.

"Morrigan.", she whispered, "I think that ugly man wants a piece of you."

Morrigan glanced in Loghain's direction, "Why, it would seem that he does."

"But he's probably not stupid enough for that...", Suzianna led on.

Morrigan stood silent, weighting her options for a moment. "Oh, fine.", she finally agreed.

Suzianna raised her voice; "If it is good with the honorable Loghain, I would have Morrigan here fight against him on King Alistair's behalf."

Before anyone could object, Morrigan piped up to continue, "It would be my pleasure, really. And dearest teyrn, I am truly sorry about the boots; those look expensive, and those... nasty, gooey grease stains, they never seem to wash off properly..."

Instantly, Loghain's supporters protested the unequal setup, and the crowd roared wild, and above the clamor, Morrigan shout "Really, really, sorry I mean!", mockery shining clearly from her voice.

The crowd roared some more, and Loghain fumed. But he wasn't quite an idiot. Not yet. Not before Morrigan clasped her hands together, and slowly pulled pulled them apart, spreading her fingers as she did, and making a 'poof' face.

"I accept!", Loghain bellowed, silencing the crowd instantly.

Suzianna lstared at him, her mouth wrinkled incredulously as she muttered; "Maker's ass... I can't believe this moron has caused us so much trouble..."

The announcer then declared the combatants and their weapons; Loghain, weapons of his choice, and his armor, against Morrigan, with nothing but her magic, and so the duel was on.

Loghain started out with a rage, swinging wide and powerful, but with his boots repeatedly snap-freezing fast to the flagstoned ground at inopportune moments, he fatigued quickly, and achieved little. He knew well enough, that he could not afford to tire; the more time he would leave between his attacks, the bigger spells he would have to deal with.

And Morrigan wasn't tiring; she stuck with hampering her opponent's movements with tiny little spells and sparks here and there.

Then, a swing flew a little wide, and Loghain found himself with his back turned to his opponent, and as he swivelled to correct, he was greeted with a spray of biting frost that fixed his armor plates one to the other, and as he struggled to free himself, another spell hit. Reality seemed to warp around him, the onlookers turning into ravenous demons and... A nightmare spell, he realized. He had heard of them; it wasn't real, none of it was real.

Loghain tried to shake his head clear of the illusion, and though everythnig else seemed to return to it's ordinary appearance, before him still stood, instead of a frail mage-woman, a gigantic bear with bony spikes and ridges protruding from it's flesh. And it wouldn't go away.

Loghain barely brought up his shield in time to block the first heavy swipe aimed for his head, nearly dislocating his shoulder as his shield took on the full force of the blow. He staggered backwards, baffled out of his wits by the unexpected turn of events, and then came a second blow, and a third, and his shoulder could take no more, so the fourth swing threw him clean on the ground.

"I yield!", he tried to shout, but he didn't get to finish before the beastly jaws bit close around his head, and the legend of the hero of river dane came to an grizzly end.

And then there was no more terrible bear, just Morrigan, nonchalantly wiping her gore-stained hands on the robes of the revered mother who had put forth the idea of the 'civilized' resolution of the conflict the first place. The stunned look on her face, and the lack of any reaction whatsoever to Morrigan's downright insolently rude behaviour said it all; she had hoped for a different kind of a duel, with a different outcome.

With everyone else just staring on silently, Morrigan just mumbled through clenched teeth, with a strange expression on her face; "I win.", and strode off, away from the crowd., which quickly resumed it's noisy behaviour, with Eamon yelling loud for the legality of the outcome, and others shouting against.

Suzianna went after Morrigan; she seemed a bit out of it.

"Morrigan, are you alright?"

Morrigan frowned back at her, lips oddly pursed. Then she spat something out on the grass with a pfew! It was an eye.

"Is...", Suzianna grimaced, "is that..."

"Yes. It is.", Morrigan answered icily.

"I'll, er, I'll go lend you something from Oghren's stores..."

Morrigan only frowned, and spat out some smaller, unrecognizable clumps. "Well.", she finally said in a not so friendly tone, "What are you waiting for?".

So off Suzianna went, to find Oghren.

From the crowd echoed shouts; "Long live King Alistair!"

Then answered Alistair's alarmed yelp; "WHAT?"

She sighs.

That day had been a good day, she realizes. She had gotten stabbed. Many enough times, and the stench of burning corpses had taken days to leave her nostrils entirely.

But it had been a good day, the end a story, something achieved.

She drifts over to the great doors, pushes them open, and walks outside. The sun has already set now, and a light shroud of rain droplets drifts down from a clouded sky, lazily, as if wanting to savour the flight.

She sits down on the stairs outside, and supports her head on her hands.

That had been a good day, up until the point Alistair had walked up to her, and said that it had to end. That Alistair could no longer be just Alistair, that he would actually have to be a king from then on.

What had she expected then? Nothing. She had expected nothing. She had not stopped to think about it before then. Now of course she could see, that it was true and sensible; an elf without a title, a grey warden and an alleged blood mage at that, could never remain with the king of Ferelden. But it was only regret that had taught it to her.

Even as she had led them with her sharp mind and tongue, she herself followed Alistair; his will and motivation to see it all through as if it really mattered.

With that bond severed, what would she have fought for?

The people who would happily run her through for being what she was if not for the tedious detail of her having saved their lives?

For the elves of the alienage, who had been all too happy to be rid of her by sending her to the tower before she even could learn her mother's name?

For loyalty to ferelden, the land that she had never known before a few months earlier when she was thrown out of the mages' tower?

For loyalty to that harsh and unpleasant place she had known as home? No, she had saved the circle once already; she certainly owed the circle nothing but spite.

So what had she fought for until that point then? A little trust, a little friendship, a little love. A little care she had not expected to find.

Perhaps, she thinks, it would have been better if she had just wandered on her own way from Lothering, as she originally had intended.

The king's highway opened up ahead. She had a map, and provisions, and a whole world of elsewhere she could wander off to.

It was a mad quest. Completely insane. She had read history, and as things seemed to her, a few parchments with some dead person's signature and seal would be about as much worth to someone gathering an army as a fine set of lavatory wipes.

Besides, the land would anyway be much better off united under an insane tyrant than torn apart before it's enemies by senseless do-gooders.

Whatever were the wardens supposed to be required for anyway? She would have thought such basics would have been covered right quick in training, but no, no one had said a thing, and all Alistair seemed to be good for with his warden sense and all was spotting darkspawn that they could see, heard, or smell otherwise anyway.

The wardens were just like the chantry, she thought; a relic of someone's ambitions to importance.

She did not want to think ill of Duncan, the man had saved her, after all. But with all due respect and everything, she could not think of the wardens as anything but an mushroom eating knightly order sans alien and perverse blood-drinking rites, clinging desperately to lost glory.

So. Where would she go? Orlais, maybe. Or Tevinter, no, not really, well, maybe; anything, anything other than Ferelden in flames, anything but Ferelden with it's mad swamp witches and idiot kings.

"So, have you decided where to go yet?"

Crap. She had thought she had lost Alistair in Lothering, but apparently not..

"Oh, Alistair...", she scrambled for words, "I was just thinking..."

"Yes?"

"Mmm..."

Alistair looked at her strangely. "What?"

_Dodge._ "Oh, I just... Er, I think you're very handsome."

"Sounds good. Er? Wait, what?"

And then she had regained her composure, and made a decision. One to hold at least for the time being.

"Nevermind, no I don't.", Suzianna rocked herself back and forth, " Anyway, I think we'll first need to go to Denerim. We need to get some up to date news on what the hell this Loghain is doing, where, when, how, and why."

"Sounds good. Mm, and what was that you said earlier?"

"It was 'Nevermind, no I don't.'"

"Oh."

"Yes. Now, first, before we go to Denerim, we'll need some more supplies, and if possible, another meatshield like yourself so I don't have to take all the arrows with my pretty face. That sound good?"

"Ha-ha-ha.", Alistair mock laughed, "Well, there's this HUGE murderer they're keeping caged in the village, and then there's this, weird, redheaded crazywoman in the bar... and..."

It had been an odd start, she thinks. But somehow, against all odds, they had fought back the monsters, and saved Ferelden, whatever that then was worth.

_And what is that worth?_ She finds herself thinking.

Counting by the price they had paid... It had to be worth something. It had to be.

There was no more King Alistair. There was only a tomb under construction, one only somewhat less grand than those standing next to it.

And it could have been avoided, it could have, but she had wanted revenge, and she had gotten it. But now that she had it, all she wanted, was to turn back time, to take it all back, to bring Alistair back, and Morrigan.

A grey warden had to die, so Riordan had said.

Suzianna had greeted the news with a storm of impassive lack of caring. Life, death, what so fucking ever. Life was terrible, so she thought, death at least would be a fresh experience.

All that was left for her to do, was to kick the archdemon's ass, and make bloody certain they'd build a furiously scowling statue of her on King Alistair's porch to make sure he'd never get over the guilt he had been whipping himself with for the past fewdays. Yes, maybe have an inscription carved on it; "Someone who died for a 'friend'".

Suzianna wandered outside onto the battlements of the Redcliffe castle, frustratedly kicking down pebbles and dirt that soldiers' boots had tracked up as she went.

It was late evening, and the battlements stood empty; the gathered army was too large to fit fully into the small castle, so most of it camped outside, with temporary ramparts of earth and sharpened poles set up to guard against the darkspawn.

But there did stand a familiar figure, leaning on the parapet. Zevran. Suzianna walked over; she could not really say why, as she didn't really feel much like talking, more like, burning peoples' faces off with magic fire and saying Ooops! afterwards. But walk over she did, anyway, and sat herself on the parapet next to the assassin.

"Can't sleep?", she asked dully.

"Ah, no. Just admiring the view.", Zevran answered, a little absentmindedly, but quickly he reeled himself back into the moment; "Which... just turned a mighty bit prettier."

Zevran flashed a smile, as Suzianna had observed him often to do. Maybe he thought it made for a more pleasant starting point for conversations? Maybe it did at that. But it certainly could not be genuine cheer, could it? What was there to be so fucking chipper about?

Suzianna snorted, still a little amused. She looked to the horizon on lake calenhad while speaking drowsily, "You fancy the 'chewed on by an ogre' look, do you? I hear it is the height of fashion...", she then turned to look Zevran in his eyes, and finished, flat and dry, "In an ogre's belly."

Zevran chuckled lightly. "You do not look chewed on, far from it...", he assured, and continued cheerily; "But come, you did not wander all the way here for idle chatter... So, whom may I kill for you tonight?"

At this a dry smile tugged at the corner of Suzianna's mouth, until it finally tore into a full wicked grin; "Oh, I know! You could kill King Alistair for me!".

Zevran grinned back, eyes gleaming wide with mild amusement and incredulity. "Things are going that bad now?", he inquired, chuckling quietly. Suzianna did not answer, and turned back to the lake, so Zevran continued, shaking his head; "He does not know how to appreciate what he has, does he?"

Suzianna gave Zevran a questioning glance, so he elaborated further; "Someone like that, someone who keeps bending over for duty and honor and all that... He's never going to be happy."

Silence fell on the scene, and the sun finally disappeared entirely behind the horizon.

"Trust me.", Zevran said, leaning on the parapet, nodding at where the sun had been a moment ago, "Being a king will be the worst thing to happen to him."

"But...", Suzianna started, and slowly turned away from the lake. Her expression had turned serious, and her posture almost insecure, "I still... It's... Well. That doesn't help! I still. I just. I really just want to kill somebody now..." Suzianna said reluctantly. "Is that wrong?", she asked, her voice a little shaky.

Zevran looked on. For a moment he was a little unsure of how to respond; they both knew what a good person would say to that, or, not really, they just knew what a good person would never say, and by proxy, they could guess at what he actually might say.

Suddenly Zevran's face lit up with a grin again; "Well. I personally draw the line at kicking puppies. If you want to do that, you probably need help. But killing? Pfft!"

Suzianna chuckled quietly. She took a deep breath, and with it her expression turned sharp again, and her posture tensed up with determination. "You know, Zevran...", her hand began creeping up the assassin's arm, coming to a gentle rest on his neck for a few awkward heartbeats. "We could..."

Zevran took a little step back, "We could... ? Ahheh? Here? Now?", Zevran's eyes scanned the surroundings, but there was nothing in sight that he could point out as an immediate obstacle.

"And why not?", Suzianna stepped closer, her left hand slipping cozily to join the other on Zevran's neck, "There is no one around, and it is dark...". she leant in close, and her lips stole a little peck of his neck.

Zevran let out an awkward little chuckle, saying "Ah, we really should not."

But Suzianna was still undeterred.; "Look at us...", she murmured, "A blood mage, and a killer for hire...", she kissed him lightly on the lips, murmuring "It is no worse than what is expected of us already..."

"Ahhheh.", Zevran quickly disentangled himself and backed away, raising his hands defensively. "I'm sorry.", he said softly, "Another time, another place..."

Suzianna looked on, stumped. "What. I'm not good enough for you?"

"It's not...", Zevran started, but quickly decided to switch to a positive approach, "You are a beautiful woman, and bold, and I can appreciate all of that but..."

"But you... won't?", Suzianna looked bewildered, with a little wrinkle of hurt and anger appearing on her lips aswell.

"There is Alistair. I do not want to get caught between the two of you. Well, I mean, in a time and a place, that too could be...", then Zevran understood to shut his mouth; it was a time and a place where his sense of humor was not being appreciated. He looked left and right, as if considering his options; "Once all this is over, and Alistair is firmly seated on his throne, and preferrably somewhere far far away. Then, I will never say no.", then he spun around quickly on his heels, and strode off towards the castle without another word.

Suzianna stared after him, her baffled expression quickly giving way to a scowl. "You bloody coward! Like hell will we talk! Ever!".

Suzianna slumped down into a crenellationon of the parapet, sitting there until she was resonably confident she would not run into any trace of Zevran on the way to her quarters. But she still did. She settled for glaring a few daggers his way, and storming past, barely resisting the urge to slam the door shut behind her as she entered her room.

Once there, she quickly grabbed a bottle of liquor from a cupboard, and poured herself a mugful. And soon enough another. And another, until a knock on the door interrupted her.

She did not intend to open up at first, but then the knocker most bothersomely began talking through the door.

"Open up! I know you are there, and I have important things to discuss!"

_Oh, Morrigan._

"Right, right.", Suzianna shouted, shuffled over, and opened the door.

"What is it?", Suzianna asked irritatedly.

"Important business."

"What IS it?"

"PERSONAL business."

"Oh, fine...", Suzianna resigned, and let the door fully open to let Morrigan in, and shut it close after.

And then Morrigan explained it. She wanted the soul of an elder god, and that meant that there was a way out. _No one has to die! Hurrah, huzzah and woo-fucking-hoo indeed!_

Suzianna walked over to the window, sipping another mugful of, whatever unlabeled highly alcoholic booze it then was that she was drinking, she had no idea, but there WAS alcohol in it.

Suzianna looked out, ponderous. It was... an interesting proposition. It had been so easy, to consider her life forfeit, when no alternatives were offered... It was tempting. But, she found, more tempting still was the power, the darker side of being able to save a life; the ability to decide not to save a life.

She chuckled darkly to herself. "No, Morrigan. No."

"Excuse me?", Morrigan asked, genuine suprise clear in her voice and expression.

"You heard me. I said no."

Morrigan sprang up from the bedside where she had sat, and to Suzianna's side, to look her close in the eye. "I'm offering you a way to stay alive through all this. I'm offering to sleep with that spiky-haired moron of a king to save your life, and you say NO?"

Suzianna turned to seriously meet Morrigan's gaze, and spoke calmly; "Alistair wants to do his duty. Alistair wants to be a bloody hero. I say, let him. Let him die for his beloved ferelden and his blasted ignorant peasants."

Morrigan blinked. Well, this was certainly a tone she had not heard before.

"You know, Morrigan...", Suzianna continued with a malicious cheer in her voice, "What is better than a living hero? A dead hero of course! Dead heroes don't get involved with Tevinter slavers. Dead heroes don't torture people in their basements! What this country of morons needs is a good hero, and I say, let's give it one!"

At that, Morrigan could no longer contain her amusement, and burst out laughing. "This is just pathetic!", Morrigan shook her head, "And you are drunk off your ass... Really, if you wanted that imbecile dead, to be rid of his whining, or his useless rigid moralities, I would congratulate you on finally coming to your senses...", Morrigan paced around the room, little bursts of laughter escaping her disbelievingly wrinkled lips, "But this... I would expect better from you, even drunk as you are."

Suzianna was not amused, as her drunken scowl freely gave away. "The answer is still no."

Morrigan halted mid step, and gave Suzianna a measuring lookover, until she finally reached a decision."Sleep it off.", she said matter-of-factly, "I can do it without your help, even if it means I'll have to knock him out and tie up his junk to make it happen."

Morrigan stepped towards the door, but decided to toss a final smarmy comment over her shoulder; "You can thank me later."

"No.", Suzianna grabbed a desperate hold of Morrigan's wrist. "No."

"Let go of me, you sorry drunk.", said Morrigan irkedly.

"No!", Suzianna hissed, her eyes ablaze with anger, "He dragged me into this... this whole darkspawn deal! He doesn't get to say that I've given up every-damn-thing for a whole lot of nothing! He doesn't get to walk away from that!"

Morrigan's expression mildened a little, looking almost like compassion for a moment. "I am sorry.", she said softly, then sharpened up; "But there is more to this than the lives of either of you. This is much too important to sacrifice for a grudge."

"Morrigan, no!", Suzianna would not let go, "Morrigan, I killed your mother! You owe me!"

"And I have saved your life many enough times. Here too in fact! in this very castle!", Morrigan snapped back. "We are even. Now let go of me."

"Please!"

"Oh, this is going nowhere..."

Morrigan slapped her palm on Suzianna's forehead and called up a spell of sleep, sending Suzianna stumbling backwards with a muttered command; "sleep!".

But it did not take. It should have, Morrigan thought; a tired and drunk target should drop easily enough. But for some reason, it did not take effect.

"You would use magic against me?", Suzianna shook her head, dazed.

"I.", Morrigan started, but was cut short.

"Magic? Against me?", befuddlement rapidly gave way to newly focused anger, and without thinking further, Suzianna found herself calling up a flame in her hand.

"Wait!", Morrigan shout, holding her palm up for defense.

Suzianna did not really plan for any of it. She wanted payback for the offense. Just a little singe. But Morrigan was not in the habit of taking chances with intoxicated mages, and called up magic to defend herself. And it wasn't right, it was supposed to be a spell for a spell, so for balance, Suzianna loaded up something more of a fireball than she had ever intended. And the magic took flight, beyond recovery.

"STOP!"

The resulting blast threw Suzianna violently against the heavy door frame of her room.

Morrigan had no such luck. She flew head first against a weakly barred window in the hallway outside. It broke open, sending her sailing through the air and down to the courtyard ground waiting a floor and a flight of stairs lower.

A heartbeat. _That wasn't supposed to happen._

Another. _I didn't want this!_

And a third. _..no!_

Suzianna rushed over the smouldering carpets, and to the courtyard window. _She could have turned into handful of mosquitoes. She could have turned into a cat. Landed on her feet._

Down below a pair of guards slowly approached Morrigan, and a third was sounding an alarm bell. It was not every day they saw raging flames tear open castle windows, and scantily clad women flying through the air.

"Is she alive?", Suzianna shrieked in a wild panic.

Silence. Silence.

"Nay, she's dead!", hollered the senior guardsman from the courtyard, and waved the alarm bell silent.

Suzianna collapsed on the floor. There were running steps in the hallway. And from the courtyard she could hear the guard shouting to her; "What's this about? Hey? Lady?".

And then Alistair was there. "What was that?", he asked, frantically eyeing the hallway for any sign of danger, but except for scorched carpets, there was nothing he could make anything of.

Suzianna wanted to tell the truth, she wanted for someone to shout at her, tell her how stupid she had been. She tried to say it; "I killed her.", but could only muster a weak mumble.

Then Alistair looked out the window. "Is that... Is that Morrigan? That is Morrigan! Did she... Did she fall all the... ?", he looked at Suzianna, who sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. Slowly Suzianna turned her head to face Alistair, and then she managed to say it, shock and horror permeating her blank expression and shaky voice; "I killed her."

"But. But. What?", Alistair shook his head, as if to silence all the questions he wanted to ask, and looked out the window. "Is she alive?", he shout down to the courtyard. And the answer was the same.

"I'm so sorry.", Alistair finally said, and then, after a brief consideration, wrapped his arms around Suzianna. And she thought it felt good. And guilty. She had just killed her best friend, and here she was, feeling something other than pain and tearing guilt. And that only made the guilt worse.

"I killed her, Alistair.", she repeated.

Alistair shook his head again, confused. "What did she do?"

And it was not a question that Suzianna had thought at all relevant; what had Morrigan done? What had Morrigan wanted? It was irrelevant. Morrigan was dead because of her, for a childish fit of rage.

And here she sat, with this gullible dullard asking all the wrong questions, connecting all the wrong dots. Suzianna wanted to say it all, but... The truth made for such an simple and elegant lie, so effortless to make.

So, what had Morrigan wanted? What had she tried to do? "She... wanted to take the archdemon's essence..."

And with that it was sealed. Morrigan was dead, and no one would shed a tear or miss her, brought it on herself. Suzianna hated it. And she hated Alistair for it, for making it so incredibly easy, for letting it happen.

And with that it was sealed; the king of Ferelden would go down in history as a great hero, one of the few to slay an Archdemon.

Her shoulders then sag further, and she wipes her nose to hide a little sob, and another. She almost starts to cry, but bottles it in at the last second. _So pointless._

But perhaps, she wonders, perhaps she still should. See if the exercise in futility could take her closer to something... humane.

She laughs, but it's a laughter of irony and regret.

When had she turned into the vengeful and bloodthirsty monster she now saw staring blankly back at her in mirrors everywhere? Had it been in Lothering, when that pack of ill-equipped refugees had decided to take her in for the bounty, and she had in the end been forced to burn them up? No, that had been just a first step, and the last months seemed to be all about walking, one step after another. And again, the trail of seemed to lead to Redcliffe.

"No, I'm not going to kill him, dammit! I hate those bloody templars, I won't start doing their damned work for them!", Suzianna had yelled as the others questioned her decision to leave Connor with free run of the castle for the day it would take them to fetch mages and lyrium from the Mages' tower.

And to Jowan she had had nothing nice to say; "No, I won't let you use your damned blood magics here! Makers ass, Jowan! Your stupid little hobbies have already gotten us both banned from the tower, and maker now knows how many people are dead here because you tried fixing things up with more of your legendary shit-on-it-till-it-gets-better problem solving!", she had then shaken her head, a little breathless from the shouting. "How you ever fooled me into thinking you had a brain in there somewhere, Jowan, I'll never know.", she had finished, a little indignantly.

So they had gone for help, leaving Jowan and Teagan to guard against the demon. And suprisingly, no one had died in their absence. And now the ritual was underway.

"Are you certain you can manage this?", the first enchanter asked, his brow creased with worry.

"Oh, I got through the harrowing already."; Suzianna had answered cheerily. "There's nothing to worry about."

Irwing had then smiled, and nodded to the mages to start the ritual. Glyphs and sigils had burst forth in the incense filled air. And for a moment Suzianna had felt nervous and awkward, waiting for the spell to take effect, but soon enough she had drifted off to sleep.

She found herself standing in a place she knew as the main hall of the Redcliffe castle. But it did not look at all like the main hall; it was massive, and it's walls were lined with hundreds of doors, and in the center of it, stood Connor, shouting; "Help me! Please!",

And something about the bad lady, and this and that. _And yaddayadda..._ It was not Connor, Suzianna knew well enough. So a little fade magic, and the wrecking was on.

A few hours later, Connor came to, lying beside a strange tattoo faced elf woman on the floor of the castle's main hall, surrounded by mages and other people. And a moment later Suzianna also woke up blinking.

"I'm hungry.", she said, prompting a few little chuckles and relieved laughs from the gathered people.

And that seemed to be it. All that could be saved, had been saved.

"What was it like?", Morrigan had inquired, a little curious.

"Terrible.", she had gotten as an laconic answer.

That evening they had set up supper in the courtyard; even with the corpses gone, the insides of the castle still smelled a bit too strongly of dead and burnt meat. The atmosphere was relieved, almost to the point of jovial, and ignoring Sten's arguments of philosophy and faith with the remaining Redcliffe knights, everything progressed smooth and friction free.

Connor had seemed a little weary, so Isolde had shepherded him off to sleep early. As she returned to the table, Suzianna stood up, addressing her; "I would like to speak with you. Would you come with me?".

"Of course.", Isolde had answered, and together they climbed on the wall overlooking Lake Calenhad. Suzianna sat down on the parapet, dangling her feet in the air, looking down at the sharp rocks far below.

Finally she said, "It would seem, Isolde, that I do not like you very much."

Isolden nodded in acknowledgement.

"And it would seem to me...", Suzianna continued, turning her gaze up to the sunset sky, "that you are to blame for everything that happened here."

"Yes.", Isolde agreed dully.

"Your secrecy, your lack of sensible consideration...", Suzianna's eyes met Isolde's gaze calmly, "I think I want you dead."

"Of course.", Isolde's expression turned fully blank.

"Those rocks down there. They look nice, don't they?"

"Of course."

"Really nice."

From the courtyard, Morrigan looked on with confusion in the brief moment before she scrambled to her feet, spitting out breadcrumbs in surprise as Isolde straddled the battlements and plunged herself down into the rocky lakeshore below.

The others had not paid much attention, but now alarmed, they too turned to look over. Oblivious to what had happened, one of the knights asked confusedly; "Where is lady Isolde?"

"She is the demon!", Morrigan hissed, earning odd and worried looks, "Not Isolde! Her! Isolde is dead!"

Even then, with the first enchanter and a handful of other mages present, it took a full effort to subdue Suzianna the abomination. And then an argument broke out; there was not enough lyrium for another ritual. And what little they had, would quickly expend itself in the upkeep of the magic cage; there was no time to go for more.

Morrigan stood outside the castle drawbridge, frustratedly kicking pebbles down the hill. This did not fit in her plans at all. Elder gods be damned, she would not count on that templar fool getting the job done on his own. She certainly could not submit to his leadership, and he would no doubdt be just as reluctant to follow her around. And, she realized, she could not keep the group together.

She reluctantly reached the conclusion she had hoped she could avoid; they needed to fix that abomination into human shape, and do it quick. And there even was a way... But the others would need to be convinced.

Morrigan strode back into the courtyard, where the arguments had muffled down to mutterings of disagreement. She raised her voice and commanded; "Move her into the hall."

The circle mages looked to Irving for leadership, but the old mage said nothing, paying no attention to anything around him, so they began working on moving the magic.

Morrigan then began explaining her idea to Irwing, who seemed distantly unhappy about the idea of providing part of the power with blood magic.

"I would not have mentioned it if I thought you would decline.", Morrigan baited.

"You think I will agree to this?", Irving finally raised his gaze from the ground, "I am the first enchanter! And you are asking me to take part in a blood magic ritual?"

"Yes. Precisely. And I think you will agree to it because it is Ferelden's only hope against the blight."

Irving turned his eyes back towards the grass again. "There is still that other warden that..."

"That Alistair!", Morrigan interrupted sharply, "He could not wipe the drool from his face without assistance! And...", she continued silkily, "you, being a man thoroughly educated in magic, no doubdt you know what the wardens actually are good for... This Loghain has no hope of stopping the blight without them."

Irving raked his fingers painedly through his hair.

_Not convinced yet? Gods, what will it take... Oh. _Irving's face then betrayed a little something, something to be used.

"And, she is... One of yours, is she not?", Morrigan ventured inquisitively. Irving did not deny or admit, but his expression did; there was something there... It almost came down to the toss of a coin between mistress and surrogate daughter, but then, the enchanter was quite an old man, with 'quite' in all capital letters, and he did not seem to be much of an lecher...

"She must have been... something like an daughter to you, growing up in the tower like that ever since she was thrown out of her home with the bathwater.", Morrigan

_Ah, now there's something that's taking..._, Morrigan observed with glee. _Now, something to wrap it up..._ "I'm so sorry.", Morrigan did her best to sound genuine, and luckily for her, Irving wasn't quite in his most observant mindset then.

The old man sighed heavily. "Yes, yes.. I... I will take part in the ritual. Maker help me, but I will.", he sighed again, and his voice trailed off, "I will..."

Morrigan smiled encouragingly at him. _And if only you weren't such an terrible little prude, we could be halfway through the ritual already instead of wasting time with reminiscing._

And so the preparations started. Sten, still penitent, and rich on lifeforce, was -despite of his dislike for all magic- easily enough recruited to giving some of it up for the ritual.

Morrigan was surprised with Wynne insisting on taking part; her explanations for her eagerness clearly left something lacking, and hinted at more personal motivations, but Morrigan wasn't really interested, so she left it at that.

Alistair made something more of an issue of it, however. "Blood magic!", he protested, "But! She did not want to use it herself! We should not either!"

"If you will put a sword through her to finish this, and lead us gloriously to victory against the darkspawn, be my guest!"

"Ah...", Alistair stood stumped for a second, then took a different approach; "How do you even know this will work? She tried it, and look how well that turned out!"

"It will work, because I am competent.", Morrigan smiled back patronizingly, and went on jeering "Is that maybe a new word for you? Competence? I'll be sure to point it out to you if we ever run across any!"

"I. Just. Bah.", Alistair left the hall with an irritated grunt.

On the other side of the hall, Jowan timidly adviced Sten on his role; "There, might be a little pain, bleeding, and..."

"Bleeding and what?", Sten demanded dryly.

Jowan tried to look as friendly and unthreatening as he could, as he let out the big word; "Excrement."

Sten looked back at him, unfazed; "There will not."

"I, er, if you say so.", Jowan relented, backing down.

Regardless, Sten took off his tunic for the occasion. Morrigan liked Sten without a tunic. A good bit, And had she been a shy person, she might have wished for a more concealing robe to hide her approval. But Morrigan was not a shy kind, so instead she shot Sten across the room with an dirty look that the giant did his best to ignore.

And then Irving announced that the ritual was ready to commence.

Pretty sparkles, smoke, all the same as the last time, with the addition of sten grunting painedly in the background, little droplets of blood seeping out through his skin.

So to the fade Morrigan went, finding herself in a dark and tall, spiraling stairway. Climbing down, the stairs seemed to stretch on an on for an eternity; someone clearly wanted to keep her away. But even the fade and it's demons had their limits, and eventually the stairs ran out, and Morrigan found herself face to face with a door.

Morrigan opened the door, and instantly, through it billowed such an cloud of noxious smoke that she only could hold onto her lunch with constant reminders of the fumes' unreal nature.

Stepping through the door, Morrigan found herself standing in a fairly large room; she could not measure it's precise look or size, as the thick dark smoke hid everything but the nearest floor planks from view, but something in her mind kept telling her it was the main hall of Redcliffe castle. But it looked nothing like Redcliffe castle; everything from the floor to the ceiling was scorched black and... something dropped from the ceiling onto her shoulder; a splash of some awful smelling, sticky, black, liquid.

Morrigan stepped aside, barely dodging a second drop, and frantically wiping the first off her shoulder, she looked up. _Oh... Ew._

Partially molten fast to the ceiling Morrigan saw a hissing little beast, the scorched likeness of Connor, stuck up in the ceiling by some massive blast of heat.

_Ew! _sometimes the fade was just... too realistic. Partially. Despite of it, she finished the little demon manifestation with a quick frost spell, and ventured deeper into the hall.

The floor ran wet with blood and molten fat from the dozens of tiny little Connors lying dead all over. Morrigan grimaced with disgust; burnt, shocked, mangled by explosions, you name it; if anything positive could be said of the grotesque display of little bodies littered all around, it was that it had diversity. But that too was to the point of garish.

Sitting in the center of it all, Morrigan found what she had been looking for; black with ash, soot, and dry blood, Suzianna sat crosslegged on the floor, cradling the last of what remained of the demon.

"I found Connor!", Suzianna shout cheerily, serenely oblivious to how the monster chewed on her bleeding shoulder.

Ordinarily Morrigan would have been all too happy to question Suzianna's intellect, but even her remarkably heartless wit had a limit to the nausea it could take before it hid whimpering in a corner. "That is the demon.", she stated flatly, and spat out some of the bad taste that kept creeping into her mouth..

"No, I saved Connor, see! I killed the demon, it's there, there and there and there!", Suzianna pointed at the multitude of corpses, "They were the demon. But now all is good! I saved him!"

Morrigan grunted; it'd clearly take more than the obvious to convince her... Or she could just be smart.

"Oh! Of course, I see!", she played along, "So how about you let me teach Connor a litte magic, so that next time he can defend himself?"

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea!", Suzianna quickly agreed, and pushed away the hissing little beast. "Morrigan's going to teach you spells, be nice now!", she scolded as the demon clawed at her arm. And then Morrigan snap-freezed it to death, the fade illusion collapsed, and they slowly began drifting back up to reality.

Morrigan woke up fine, and after insulting Alistair -who had during her absence slipped back into the hall- grievously enough to convince him that she was not possessed, at least not by compassionate spirits, they moved on to Suzianna, who took her time waking up.

She seemed aware of her surroundings, but did not pay attention to anyone or anything. She slowly sat up, a haunted look on her face. Then she looked over herself, a look of horror spreading on her face, and she began scratching her arm, legs, shoulder, her back, all of her, screaming incomprehensibly until she was bound to a bed and gagged.

She would not calm down. Her companions looked on with worry as she writhed and cried, keeping it up long into the night.

Wynne took the first watch by her side, but despite of her persistent attempts to calm her down with speech and spell, she witnessed no real change.

Morrigan volunteered for second; she could not quite sleep with the thought that everything had gone so far south before their little recruitment campaign had even gotten properly started. She did not savour the thought of returning home to mother just yet... Not before she would have time to study that grimoire of hers that they had chanced to find on the first visit to the circle tower.

It was a few hours before sunrise then, that Suzianna finally quieted down and began calming herself. Morrigan then looked her over, but she still seemed quite bewildered, so Morrigan left her gag on, and sat herself down to read further. A little bit later however, she began making noise again, but this time somehow coherent, though muffled to the point of indecipherability, so Morrigan released her.

Suzianna sat herself up on the bed, trembling a little, her eyes still a little wild, but focused now. Morrigan cocked her head to the side, ponderous, her eyes sharply looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nonchalantly she asked; "All better now?"

Suzianna let out a few feeble chortles, which quickly devolved into sobs. And she cradled herself up, hugging her knees.

'Bewilderment', that was the word of the moment for Morrigan. Obviously the elf had regained some of her senses... But this, what was she supposed to do about this... this sobbing and this weeping and... ? "What? What is it?", she puzzled.

Then it came to her; Touching. Oh yes, she remembered. All the weird touching... These people seemed to like it... Carefully she reached out her hand, as if fearing having it bitten off, and, patted Suzianna's shoulder with a few fingers. Once, twice, thrice. Morrigan waited for it to take effect, and lo, slowly Suzianna's head turned to her, it's expression a rabid hybrid of "Ha-ha-ha?" and "What the hell?".

Did it work? Morrigan wondered. She tried it again, but just, pat, once, pat, twice -one had to carefully watch out for overdose with this kind of odd medicines, after all-, then she quickly crossed her arms on her chest, and stood still and rigid; an expectantly befuddled scowl on her face.

But it worked. Patting had turned sobbing into an incredulous chuckle. Mysteriously, it had worked.

Suzianna shook her head, and with a hint of wry amusement in her dry voice she muttered; "Maker's ass, you're so awkward...", earning herself a poisonous smile from Morrigan. Suzianna then stretched her neck, and finally asked wearily; "Is there anything to drink here?", finishing with a tone of self deprecating amusement; "Sore throat. It's like I would have been screaming all night..."

"Mm. I'll get something.", Morrigan answered. "And you might want to do something about...", Morrigan made a wiping gesture on her cheek.

"What? Is there something on my cheek?"

"Spittle, if you are curious. Also known as drool, by another word.", and with that and Suzianna's dry coughs and chuckles behind her, the swampwitch went on her way to fetch 'something'. And a wet towel.

Yes, redcliffe had been a definite turning point in the whole of it; there she had realized, that if they were to get through any of it alive, they would have to be prepared for tough choices, be prepared ahead of time, so they would not hesitate when the time would come.

And that in itself was an strange thought, as back in Lothering, she had never thought to walk the way to it's bitter end; she would have rather just, sought and found an impossible obstacle; one she could point out to the others and just quit it all. With her self respect intact; without having to really let down anyone's expectations.

So from Lothering, they had travelled to Denerim, where she had hoped to find a Ferelden united under Loghain; an enemy they could not wage war against. But what they had found was instead bickering and civil war and assassins on the road; only a reason to go further.

Then they had tried the mages' tower; surely they would not lend any assistance to HER; the templars were supposed to hate her for helping Jowan escape. But instead they had been welcomed as relief; even apostates, assassins, murderers, and failed templars made for better company than abominations. And they had saved the tower. Incredible as she thought it was; they had easily butchered their way through droves of abominations and dream horrors. And they had secured themselves an army of mages.

She had somewhat resigned herself to fate at that point; maybe they could actually succeed! So to Redcliffe they went next; it seemed a sensible move, being near to the tower, and supposedly ruled by a man whose personal interests already should be enough to compel his assistace.

But what they had found instead, was an obstacle. And they had charged it like idiots with delusions of invincibility, so she thinks.

_We should have just killed that kid..._

As much as she adores the little mage-pup, she cannot help but think it would have been better to just cut his throat then and there. At least it would have been almost justified... Now Isolde had died instead by her hand, not then and there her own, but hers nonetheless, and she had gotten herself, and now that she thinks of it, probably the kid too, stuck with blood magic.

They had talked afterwards, she and the kid. And she had asked him if he remembered anything, and he had answered that he did not. And she had said with a smile; "I know, me neither". And she had known them both to be lying. She remembered everything, and more; as it had turned out; a demon inside of you could be dead, but it still left a carcass.

She sighs to the rain. Though it is more akin to heavy mist than real rain, her robes are already soaked. And she cherishes the discomfort, chuckling wryly at her newfound love of symbolic self-flagellation.

On the way from Redcliffe to brother Genetivi's house in Denerim, they had run into bandits. And they had killed them. And for some reason, Suzianna had no idea what, Alistair was whining again.

_Can't he just be happy that I'm doing this at all?_

"Look, I don't mean to whine.", Alistair whined, "But that was just EXCESSIVE!".

"They were bandits! They're now dead! That's how we always deal with them!", Suzianna snapped back.

"Yeah, but... Usually we just kill them DEAD! Look at them! They're CHARCOAL!", to illustrate his point, Alistair snapped a finger off one of the ashen statues. "See?"

Suzianna gritted her teeth. "Charcoal IS dead."

"Charcoal is overkill!"

Suzianna shook her head in irritated disbelief and crossed her arms defiantly. "So how does the king want his bandits done? Shall they only be done rare or medium rare? Or shall they be delivered entirely raw, so the king can tenderize them with his mighty sword at his own leisure? Hm?"

Alistair tried to look seriously back at her, but his mouth began twitching, and quick enough blew open in full guffaws, and the situation untensed. "Look.", he tried to sound serious, "It's not the bandits I'm worried about."

Suzianna stared back at him like at a lunatic; what else was there to worry about? Then her scowl slowly gave way to wide eyed befuddlement. "You're worried about... me?", Suzianna stumbled, feeling ambushed, well and proper. Since when had Alistair wanted her for anything besides telling him which people to hit with his sword anyway?

"Ahhah.", Alistair let out a brief laugh, "Well... You say it like there's something wrong with it. But isn't that sort of, what friends are... supposed to do?"

Suzianna answered with a whole lot of wrinkly mouthed speechlessness, so Alistair moved onwards, turning worried and serious again; "Anyway... You didn't use to charcoalify people... I just... Well, is everything alright?"

Suzianna smiled at the concern. "It's just a bunch of bandits... I got a little carried away."

"That is the third time between here and Redcliffe that you've gotten a little carried away."

Was it? Oh yes, Suzianna realized, yes it was. She sat down on a log on the roadside, rubbing her brow. "Oh... I must not have been paying attention...", she looked up at Alistair, and said apologetically, "I do have a lot on my mind."

"A lot on your mind?", Alistair wondered half amusedly, "So that you do not even pay attention to the bandits we kill?"

Suzianna tried to smile and laugh little, but the end result would mostly have earned points for effort. "You don't think my brief stint as an abomination might leave me something to think about?"

"Well, that is sort of what I worried it might be.", Alistair admitted. "It looked pretty bad there for a while..."

"It 'looked pretty bad'?", Suzianna spat out, irked by the understatement. "I was stupid! I got Isolde killed, I mean, I didn't even like her, she was hysterical and stupid to be so proud and secretive, and she thought being a mage was some kind of an shameful curse and I hate that thought! And...", Suzianna breathed out heavily, and her shoulders sagged, "I think that's why the demon went after her..."

"Well that wasn't quite what... But that wasn't your fault!"

"I know!", Suzianna snapped, "But can I...", her voice then trailed off, until she raised it again for another snap; "I can't just say it and be done with it! Not when it was me who messed up, and when I was... used to make it happen!"

They stared at eachother for a quiet moment, then Alistair sat down on the log as well, and silently they agreed to look everywhere but at eachother.

"I suppose I could not... just leave that be, either.", Alistair finally got said, "But, Isolde, maker rest her soul... But at least Connor is alive and well. At least the outcome was what Isolde would have preferred."

"We did our best.", Alistair continued after a brief silence, brushing aside his initial outrage at the use of blood magic.

"Mm.", Suzianna conceded, "Connor is alive and... well, at least he's alive."

"Yeah, it can't be an easy life ahead of him...", Alistair shook his head, "All that death, and him in the very center..."

"Oh, yes, that too...", Suzianna absentmindedly let slip, catching Alistair's attention entirely.

"So what did you mean?", Alistair broke the unspoken agreement of making no eyecontact.

"I... didn't mean to say anything.", Suzianna said, and she wanted to say even less, but Alistair kept insisting; "No, tell me, what did you mean?"

Suzianna took a deep, shaky breath. "Well... Morrigan killed the demon.", she started, and took another breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "But it's not gone. It's just dead, but not gone!", her expression turned haunted, "It's like... this ugly, dirty corpse, rotting away under my skin. And it's dead.", Suzianna caught Alistair's eyes with her suddenly very intense gaze. "Do you even understand what happened? A demon doesn't take you with a collar and a chain to lead you about, they want to feel, so it's close, and... intimate, and it becomes a part of you and...". Suzianna turned away again, wiped away a little tear that tried to make it's way down her cheek, trying to keep her composure. "And I don't even know if it will ever be gone...", she eventually continued, "because it's still got memories, and they're seeping into my head! All kinds of sick and twisted thoughts I never knew existed... And it's making me so... so...", and suddenly Alistair's ear started seeming highly interesting. Mysteriously divine, delicious, even...

Alistair was trying to think of something to say, but he drew a blank, quite taken aback, but then he noticed Suzianna leaning in close to him. Shyly he dared to read the gesture as a hug request; he himself would certainly want a hug after spilling his guts in a likewise fashion. So he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, carefully minding to keep the hug alittle tense and loose, so as to not make an inappropriately intimate impression; wrong impressions were the enemy, of course. For good measure, he then added a few pats on the shoulder to the mix, for that special 'camraderie' feeling. Then she bit his ear. Hard. And he squealed.

They sprang up and apart simultaneously, each yelping with surprise nearly as loud as the other. Suzianna quickly began stumbling over words; "I don't! I didn't! I wasn't!", and Alistair, he just opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Until it struck him. And then, all he could do

was grin and say; "I 'ear what you're saying!".

It would have gone down in the travel log as one of the days when Suzianna wanted to set Alistair on fire and roast marsmallows on his burning intestines, had Alistair not apologized right after. So instead it -once Suzianna had fumed it out- turned into a first step closer.

But that had only been the start of it; she had gotten better, rather quickly in fact, the foreign memories had sunken to the distance, no longer distracting her focus. And the knowledge of blood magic that had come with the memories, that she had kept a secret until it was forced into use.

It had made her hate solitude; the quiet moments she was left alone with nothing to occupy her but the images and thoughts drifting over from the demon's decaying remains.

That, she reasons, had only been the start of it all. The damned quest for the sacred ashes had been no kinder in shaping her character, the way it had brought her the Redcliffe fade nightmare incarnate with context and guilt.

Suzianna had decided to put her commitment all on one card; if they could find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, she would be in for the full ride; if they could find such an long lost relic when so many others had tried and failed. If they would succeed at that, she could just as well pull on a priest's garb and declare herself the living mouth of the maker.

She had felt a little uneasy for a while though; with the assassin mage occupying Genetivi's house in Denerim, and the oddly clothed killers who waited at lake Calenhad... It was more than obvious that Genetivi had found SOMETHING...

But the dull village of Haven had soothed her awakened dread of the divine back to slumber; there was nothing there. Just a herd of dumber than average peasants, and an ill-stocked tradesman keeping them all stocked with dirtfarming tools, or whatever it was that peasants on a frozen over mountaintop did for a living.

But, there was some friction in the group... Morrigan had not been eager to chase after fairy tales, so Suzianna had assured her that what they really were doing was tying up the last threads of the 'investigation' so they could convince Teagan to take over. And it was true too, in a way; it was an perfectly valid plan. Some things just were omitted, for the benefit of the listener of course.

Zevran did not seem to really care about any of it, and he seemed to be one of the few to catch wind of that the same might be true for their leader. So as he said himself, he had spent the previous day snooping the place for secret orgies. He had yet to find any.

Leliana on the other hand, she was quite ecstatic. Searching for her very favourite fairytale treasure... and the landscapes! Oh, the landscapes! Such magnificient views that would make a thousand orlesian prose-artists come in their pants, as Zevran had helpfully paraphrased her detailed and extended praise.

By now though, the locals' unfriendly attitudes and stares of barely contained bovine hatred were getting to her, and she sat bored by the campfire, trying to tune a small harp she had bought in the village the previous day.

Wynne seemed to take it all with just a little bit of curiosity, and little else; she was along for the ride. So Suzianna decided to take her with a little bit less curiosity, and let her take care of herself.

Alistair then, he bemoaned the lack of results; while he too questioned, if not the urn's existence, at least their chances of finding it. But he remained hopeful, and that meant that he also remained anxious to move forward.

But Sten, he did not like the wasted time, not one bit, and it had not helped his disposition that he had overheard Leliana's conversation with Suzianna last evening; Leliana had been gushing over the grand view of the lowlands, maker's work this, maker's work that; few things inspired the dark side of Suzianna's humor as the maker. "Yes.", she had said, "And just think how beautiful it will all look once the night falls properly!"

Leliana had looked puzzled; "What? Why? Why would it look better in the dark?", and Suzianna had answered cheerily; "Well, that's when you see best how the darkspawn set it all on fire."

And Leliana, poor Leliana, she had looked almost as betrayed as if her next visit to a doctor would involve removing a dagger from between her shoulderblades. "That's terrible!"

"I guess it is.", Suzianna had grinned, danglig her feet off the ledge, just happy to have made it rain on the maker's righteous ass-parade.

And that was the end of it. But not for Sten, who now took the wasted time as evidence of their leader's incompetence, and her sense of humor as an indicator of her lack of commitment to the task. And he was right of course, and he would not be appeased with the reasonable poppycock that Morrigan had swallowed.

"What, you think you could do better?", Suzianna retorted to his questioning of her ability, staring defiantly into the eyes of the giant who stood up at nearly twice her height.

"Yes.", said Sten, as terse as ever.

Suzianna weighted her options. Wait, no, she had no options. Letting this suicidally repentat, duty-obsessed vegetable take over would mean an definite end to her dimming hopes of dignified withdrawal, and most likely also survival.

And while he probably COULD do a more spirited job of gathering an army, there was no way he could command the current ragtag band of pariahs, what with his strict and alien outlook on... everything.

Suzianna grimaced. She did not like the situation. "And what exactly did you think to do about it? Whining will change nothing."

"No, it will not.", Sten conceded, and began matter of factly loosening his sword from its scabbard.

Suzianna's jaw fell open. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

Now with sword in hand, Sten stopped to explain; "I will duel you for leadership."

"Ha?", Suzianna had nothing but wide eyes and an gaping mouth for an answer; a duel was something she certainly had not prepared herself for. Luckily for her, Alistair was found close enough on hand.

"What, Sten, are you silly? She is a mage! She can't 'duel' you!"

Sten thought for a moment. "Will you fight on her behalf then?", he finally said, and that meant it was Alistair's turn to collect his jaw from the floor. There was just something about the sheer, massive, bulk that was Sten, that made the prospect of one on one combat seem unappealing. A team of bear hunters with their long polearms and spike-filled pit-traps seemed a much better approach to taking down the giant.

But such an team was not available for the moment, so Alistair looked to Suzianna to carry the hot potato further. But Suzianna was still well enough under the effects of Sten, so then and there she was of little use for that, or any purpose.

So Alistair turned towards the giant, and failing to think up other alternatives, he accepted. "Alright then. First blood?", he said, quietly hoping to himself that it would be.

"Of course.", Sten answered, and Alistair breathed in relief. Maybe his lfie was not forfeit after all.

And again, Zevran did not seem to care much for what happened, instead choosing to take it as it came; standing idle nearby, looking on with mild curiosity, chewing on a leg of roast chicken as he did.

Neither Leliana nor Wynne had paid attention to anything before swords were drawn, and they were now staring owl eyed, slowly wrapping their heads around the scene. And inaction came easily, as Suzianna, standing much closer to the fight, didn't seem to be doing anything either.

And Morrigan, sweet Morrigan... She cheered on Sten, who once again did his best to ignore her as he took a ready stance.

Now Alistair, he was quite good with a sword. And he had developed some mean muscles from pummelling in genlock heads with his shield. But Sten, he was simply terrifying... And, Alistair realized, Sten was quite terrifying even without a sword, and would be even without a shred of cloth on him. And the sword did not help things one bit, of course.

They began circling eachother, as people tend to, when faced with the opportunity to impale their faces on a length of sharpened steel. But Sten quickly went on the offense, swinging wide and powerful, battering Alistair's shield and keeping him at a safe distance all the while, clearly not inteding to so much hit as intimidate. Of course his tactics were that much clearer to the people who did not have to scramble under the shield-arm-numbing strikes.

And then there was an opening, Alistair stepped in, and he almost managed to strike, but Sten sidestepped to his shield-side, and he ran out of safe reach. Then another massive overhead swing seemed to be incoming, and Alistair raised his shield to meet it, but it never landed. What he got instead was a heavy boot on his toes, the guard of a two hander deflecting his sword, and a full body tackle that sent him sprawling on the ground with a twisted ankle.

With an loud, "OWW!", Alistair yielded wordlessly, so Sten calmly sheathed his sword., and everyone else, they just stared. Except for the cheering Morrigan.

And then the thought struck Sten again, as it had many enough times in the past weeks; he was not with the Antaam anymore; these people would not follow him, no matter how many of them he would bruise. This made Sten both disappointed and irritated, so much so that he almost displayed an actual facial expression.

But rather than showing such weakness, he strode off into the village on his own.

"What was that?", seemed to be the general mood in the camp. Or "Owowowowow!", as the case was with Alistair. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I should have done something!", Suzianna burst out, kneeling by his side.

"A little healing would help.", Alistair managed to wheeze in between the 'Ow!ow!ow!'s, so Suzianna turned to wave Wynne over.

But the old mage was already on her way; screaming, shrieking, yelping, and yes, also ows and ouches, seemed to draw her like a flame would a moth. "Haven't you still learned even the basics?", she asked Suzianna scoldingly as she patched Alistair up.

Feeling a little better, Alistair raised an questioning eyebrow at Suzianna. "You don't do healing magic?", he asked. And thinking about it, those duties had always fallen on Morrigan, and after the tower, Wynne.

Suzianna shrugged sheepishly. "Last time I tried, Jowan wound up shitting out his bowels for a day."

"That was three days, dear.", Wynne corrected, ever so honest.

"Yes...", Suzianna admitted embarrassedly.

"And he only had a papercut.", Wynne went on.

"Yes. Wynne.", Suzianna conceded, a little sharply now, hoping to voice her displeasure at the sudden reminiscence.

Wynne chuckled. "Oh, do not mind me at all.", she said to no one in particular, then stood up, very much looking at Suzianna in particular. "Sometimes I just forget I am not your demented grandmother.", she said, with a little something subtly mischievous glittering in her eye.

"Yes, Wynne...", Suzianna agreed sweetly, "Sometimes I too forget you are not demented."

"Ouch.", Alistair started, as Wynne went her way, back to preparing herbs, and unlike most of the party, actually being useful. "Wasn't that a bit... Morriganish?", he half-jokingly asked.

"Nah.", Suzianna denied after brief consideration. "She's known me for ages, she doesn't expect anything different."

"Well, let's hope so.", Alistair chuckled, and went on joking; "Your kind of healing might get a little inconvenient in a fight..."

Suzianna grunted indignantly in response. "Maybe I'd better work on it then?"

The threat was sufficient to silence even Alistair. "Er. Let's just hope she won't go anywhere. Okay?"

The rest of the morning went with packing up the camp. They waited a while for Sten to appear, but he did not. The giant had left his traveling gear however, so Suzianna did not think it would be the last they would see of him.

Suzianna then told the others to resume the work from yesterday; chat people up, look for any clues as to Genetivi's whereabouts. She was not very hopeful, however; with the roads filled with bandits and darkspawn, even an armed band of warriors risked blood and bruises traversing the countryside; most likely Genetivi was just another corpse in a roadside puddle. But the effort had to be made.

As for herself, Suzianna had decided to try to catch up with the oddity; a revered father, who supposedly was found in possession of the village's single communally owned braincell. Or quite possibly some other trait that made him the leader, like a massive beard, or big biceps and an overabundance of testosterone; it was an backwater dump after all, just a flyshit on the arse side of the map.

Sneering at the scoffing villagers, Suzianna made her way up the mountainside, and towards the local chantry. The people, she thought, they had to be just purely stupid; there was no valid reason for freezing one's brains off on a mountaintop, not when free land stretched far and wide in the much brain-friendlier lowlands below.

And there was the chantry, and from inside of it emanated, surprise surprise, a chant! Suzianna congratulated herself on her fortuitous timing, and entered. And the people did not like it one bit, staring at her with even more barely contained hatred than before. Suzianna just did her best to look apologetic, and gestured in an 'Me. You. Talk'-manner at the fur-clad father at the front of the flock

So the chanting was interrupted -much to the shock and horror of the inbred yokels-, so that she and the father might have a conversation.

But the answers were just what she had already heard and reinterpreted; "No. No Genetivi here. Yush, we are moronic village people. Ya, we hate everything that father Eirik has not molested to mark his approval."

But then they too were interrupted, as one of the other oddities of thevillage rushed in and pulled Eirik aside for a whispered conversation; it was one of the village's armed and armoured guards, which, now that Suzianna thought about it, were quite out of the ordinary. Lords and ladies had guards. Rich merchants had guards. Peasants had, if they were lucky, bows, and usually also torches and pitchforks. But then, these were communist peasants...

Suzianna's wandering thoughts were cut short, as Eirik turned back to her; "It would seem that some of your people have been caught digging around people's homes."

"Oh."

Suzianna had not directly TOLD anyone to break and enter, or anything of the sort. "I'll, er, go and get them straight away.". She MIGHT have made a brief and suggestive mention of secrets behind locked doors however, and now that she REALLY thought about it, possibly also that she wanted an chicken omelette, and that Zevran was to obtain the ingredients. Under pain of spanking. Using any means necessary of course; the trader was really badly stocked on such things.

"I'll, er... be sure to give them a proper shouting once I catch them.", Suzianna assured, and turned to leave. Eirik thought for a moment, his bushy eyebrows creeping together like two caterpillars in love, but the rest of his ponderous scowl promised an dramatic ending for their star-crossed romance.

"No, that will not do.", he said. Suzianna turned to look back at Eirik, and then an acute case of paralysis hit her. It was an tiny little tidbit of information she thought she certainly could have used ahead of the time; Eirik was a mage, and THAT no doubdt made him the king of the dungheap.

But Suzianna quickly found herself running out of superior attitude; the leash was off, and many of the villagers' hostile looks had turned into something much more bloodthirsty and violent, and from the corner of her eye she could see Eirik handing over a hunting knife to an angry looking little boy, clearly less than ten years of age, who then approached her, and at the urging and cheering of the some of the people gathered, plunged the knife deep in her thigh.

Suzianna wanted to scream out the pain, but the paralysis held back even her best efforts, not that anything would have been heard over the villagers' cheer and jubilation anyway. And the boy prepared for another stab.

Things looked serious; Suzianna knew from her theoretical studies into healing, that an unfortunate wound in the thigh could make even a large man bleed dry in a matter of minutes, let alone her, an elf of little height and small frame. Then the door opened, and everyone turned to look. Except Suzianna, who was fixed the opposite way; but the expressions on the people's faces gave her a little hope. As did the knife-armed kid, or to be precise, his shrieking and involuntary flight across the room.

Father Eirik began casting another spell, but was interrupted by an flying two-hander that cut across his face and nearly slashed his throat open. Then Suzianna found herself picked up and thrown down the hill, rolling rigidly in the snow until she hit a fence a little ways down. The paralysis began wearing off, and taking support from a fencepost, she clambered to her feet.

The doors of the chantry were ocne again closed, barred by the now unarmed Sten who had wedged himself sitting against the doors. He bled from a little cut on his neck; someone was prodding a knife through the small opening between the door halves, but his armor had protected him from serious damage. But then the banging and shouting on the inside relented, giving way to a violent burst of lightning that blasted through the planks. Eirik was back up then.

"Use your magic!", Sten shout, and Suzianna limped over as fast as she could, and put her hands on the door. It was all she could think of; her forté, fire, lots of it. Eirik still got off another lightning burst, making Sten seem a little stunned and singed, but then the insides of the small chantry building turned into an inferno, and screams of rage instantly gave way to shrieks and howls of pain.

Backing down, with the instant threat reduced to feeble cries, Suzianna had the time to think it through more carefully. _Crap._

What first hit her, was that it really was pretty much the whole village roasting in the fire, from the youngest to the eldest.

The second thing was, that the chantry had contained lots of furs, carpets, and thick tapestries; suitable for the cold climate.

And thirdly, the chantry building was mostly made of wood, with only a few stone-built side wings; even if someone would have dodged the intial blast with survivable burns, no one would be making it out alive now.

"Get away from the doors.", Suzianna adviced Sten, who, after making sure no one was banging on them anymore, stood up, and walked over to Suzianna, who stood leaning shakily on the fence, slathering a poultice on her wound, hoping to at least hinder the bleeding. Sten gave her an... look (were it anyone else, it would have seemed questioning, but Sten, he was unreadable).

"No.", Suzianna said distantly, "Ask Wynne.".

Then the heat in the burning building rose high enough, setting fire to everything inside, blasting the doors open with the force of the sudden deflagration.

They looked quietly on the flames as they began licking through the roof planks, Suzianna weak from the bleeding and sick from the sight, Sten, stoic. A thick pillar of smoke erupted from it all, pouring out through the door, and increasingly, from between the roof planks, and looking at the dirty brown colour of it, Suzianna counted it as a little blessing that it did not blow in their direction. She felt sick. Very sick.

"I'm going to need a new sword.", Sten remarked matter of factly.

Yes, he probably was, Suzianna agreed, though blade temperings and finishes were the last thing on her mind then and there. The people on the inside, now dead and defenseless, they were no longer stupid yokels and despicably ignorant and dangerous deviant peasants, they had become... just people.

She smiles with bitter amusement, and pulls a few strands of her wet black hair away from her face.

In Haven, they had then found brother Genetivi. In a quite dead state of being. She had not found him; she had refused to set foot in the charred ruin; Wynne's, and Leliana's, and most of all Alistair's shaken and stunned expression had been more than enough for her.

And thinking they had found something, they had followed an footpath up the mountain, hacked apart doors that stood in their way, fought their way through an army of cultists and fire spewing lizards that guarded the mountain stronghold... And they had even butchered an high dragon, and impossible as it sounded, come out only a few scars and memories richer. And most importantly of all, they had found the Sacred Ashes.

It had all been very heroic and awe inspiring; she had even come close to rethinking some of her views of Andraste and the Maker, but none of it had been as memorable as that moment she really had wished hard she had been any good with spells good for more than reducing life to cinders.

But despite of it, she had stuck with her decision; they had found the Ashes, so she had then vowed to herself to fight the blight as far as she could; they had achieved the impossible, what else could stand in their way?

And she and Alistair had begun talking lots; things seemed to be going somewhere on their own, even though they only perfectly agreed on most issues when Suzianna was willing to color her truths.

She did not care much for morals or principles, but in a way of distant admiration she did recognize that some of them had a little value; it was easy enough to smile and nod agreeably, though her heart wasn't really much in it. She did actually agree, as long as Alistair was not feeding her something utterly ridiculous. She really did agree, as long as not disagreeing counted as such. And was there really anything wrong with it in the first place? Everyone did it; everyone viewed the world in shades of grey and colored it vibrant or black and white with their own ideas and experiences. That she was a little more conscious and deliberate about it hardly made her any worse than the next person.

Or so she had thought, back in the day. But now, with so much left unsaid, she can't help but wonder if it all had been real in the first place; if anything would have happened had she been entirely honest. Probably not, she has to admit.

But then, she returns to her previous thought; no one was all that honest, not even Alistair, having neglected to mention his royal lineage until he absolutely had to... No one was all that honest, everyone kept something stashed away from sight, and now she wonders what other secrets Alistair had mayhaps kept.

It is an uneasy thought for her; the warm and fuzzy feelings he had brought up had died and rotted away, and in their place now stood a mountain of guilt. She can't remember the love. Clearly she did wrong by him; he wound up dead and she did not, and now she dreads the thought that she might have brought about his demise for nothing but a foolish delusion..

But then she remembers, none of the caring, but all the spite and anger she had held for him in their final weeks together, and it gives her an bitter comfort. She could not have despised him so, not ever, not without first having loved him.

It had been something; a little warmth amidst all the murdering and the blight. A breather between killing and bleeding and becoming a monster to better fight them.


End file.
